


June Hymn

by The Librarina (tears_of_nienna)



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: First Time, M/M, PWP, also last time, overeducated revolutionaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 12:41:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tears_of_nienna/pseuds/The%20Librarina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras consents to try Grantaire a second time, in a very different fashion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	June Hymn

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XIV, with the prompts chance, classics, and night.

Enjolras found Grantaire at his favorite table in the corner. There was only a single bottle of wine on the table, and that nearly half-full--a promising sign. He sat down in the rickety chair across from him.

Grantaire looked up suspiciously. He had not forgotten his earlier failure, and he doubted that Enjolras had, either. "What brings Apollo down to the underworld?" he asked, clothing his hurt in raillery.

"I would try you a second time," Enjolras said softly.

Grantaire's eyes widened, and the cynical cast of his features melted away. It made him look five years younger at least. "What would you have me do?"

"This is not for the revolution, precisely. It is...personal, in nature."

"I am at your service," he said.

"I know. You have made your feelings clear enough, with all your references to Orestes and Achilles and Euryalus. I know how you think of me."

He looked down at the table, embarrassed to have been so transparent after all. "I did not think anyone caught the bit about Euryalus."

"I have more Latin than you do, _Nise_."

A faint shiver of hope and pleasure ran through Grantaire's shoulders, and he looked up, smiling. "But I have the better of you in Greek," he countered.

"That is true." Enjolras traced patterns in a spilled drop of wine. "I know our chances in this. Though I do believe the people will rise up and fight with us, we are to be the vanguard. And in every battle the losses of the vanguard are great.

"For myself I have few regrets. I have lived a life of which I can be proud, and if I die, then I will die in the pursuit of liberty. I only wish that I might have had the time to explore more...pleasurable pursuits, before it came to this." He had made no secret of his innocence, but neither had he spoken directly of it, until now. He looked up to meet Grantaire's eyes. "I am asking you to show me, if you would."

"I would," he said immediately. "Here and now, if you like."

Enjolras shook his head. "Tonight. There is still work to be done."

"There is always work to be done." Grantaire reached for the bottle. Enjolras settled his hand over Grantaire's, stilling him.

"Not another drop."

Guilt shadowed his eyes. "I fear I shall need the courage."

"I want you as you are, not as the drink makes you. Come to me at my rooms at eleven o'clock," he said, rising from the chair. He returned to the others, without a backward glance or any suggestion that what Grantaire had heard him say was anything more than a hallucination.

* * *

Enjolras retired to his student's lodgings at ten o'clock. He had letters to write before the candle burned down; it was just enough to keep him from wondering whether Grantaire would really do as Enjolras had asked. He struggled to keep his hopes to a minimum--after all, the _Barriere du Maine_ had been an unmitigated disaster. But that had been in service of the cause. He had known for a long time that Grantaire's devotion was not to their _cause_.

At the very stroke of eleven, there was a knock at the door. Enjolras quelled the hope that rose in his chest and laid his pen aside. "Come in," he called.

Grantaire stepped into the room and closed the door behind him--but it was Grantaire in rare form. Clean and almost sober, he was newly shaven and dressed in fresh clothes, with his hair damp and curling against his collar. That he had gone to such an effort touched Enjolras more deeply than he might have cared to admit.

"You look almost civilized," he said, half smiling.

"If I were civilized, you would not want me here," Grantaire replied, his voice low.

"Perhaps that is true. You told me once that you were wild, and perhaps I have need of that wildness now."

Grantaire took a steadying breath. "What would you have of me, Enjolras?"

"I leave it to your experience. I have none of my own."

"If there are certain things that you wish of me, we will need--"

Enjolras gestured to the small table beside the bed. When Grantaire saw the glass bottle of oil, his brow rose and he glanced rapidly back at Enjolras.

"Innocence is not the same as ignorance," Enjolras said, an edge of asperity creeping into his voice.

"You did _research_ ," Grantaire said, delighted. "Did you study Catullus? _Pedicab' ego vos, et irruma_ \--"

"Grantaire!"

"Ah, I embarrass you. Come--if you kiss me I will not be able to spout such nonsense."

Enjolras hesitated.

Grantaire's voice softened. "Have you never been kissed, then?"

Enjolras found he could not meet Grantaire's eyes. He had confessed to knowing nothing of sex already; why should he balk at this admission?

Grantaire reached out and tipped Enjolras' face up, dropping to one knee so that they were more of a height while Enjolras sat in his chair. "Then that is where we will start." He cupped Enjolras' jaw in one hand and leaned forward to press their lips together. He began slowly and very gently, allowing Enjolras to grow accustomed to the rhythm of it, the touch of warm lips and the surprising flash of Grantaire's quick tongue.

Enjolras' hands rose almost unbidden to settle at the nape of Grantaire's neck, fingers sliding through the wet curls. Grantaire murmured approval against his lips.

After a long moment, Grantaire rose, drawing Enjolras out of his chair with a hand on his arm. "Come, Alexander. Let your Hephaestion tend you."

Enjolras allowed himself to be led across the room, to the neatly-made bed that was shoved, almost like an afterthought, in the corner of the room. Half the time he did not even sleep there, instead waking in pale dawn light at his desk, with a book or stack of papers as a pillow.

He sat at the edge of the bed, and Grantaire knelt in front of him, unbuttoning Enjolras' vest and tossing it away to hang over the back of the chair. His shirt followed, Grantaire's callused fingers gentle as they slid up his ribs to pull the fabric over his head.

"Lie back," Grantaire said softly, guiding Enjolras down onto the bed. Enjolras obliged him, propped on his arms to watch what Grantaire would do next. He unfastened the fall-front of Enjolras' trousers, and Enjolras shivered as the chill of the room enveloped him. A heartbeat later, the chill was gone, replaced by the warmth of Grantaire's hand curled around the hardening length of him.

"You have done this much before, I imagine?" Grantaire asked, sweeping his thumb over the head of Enjolras' cock.

Enjolras found himself wanting to press forward into the gentle grip of Grantaire's hand. "On occasion," he confessed.

"Do you think of France, then, when you take yourself in hand? Or do you ever indulge in the thought of a human lover? --Do you ever think of me?" His hand slid upward in a slow, teasing stroke.

"I fear I will not be able to think of-- of anyone else, now," Enjolras replied, his sharp words cracking on a sigh.

Grantaire leaned up to kiss Enjolras again, and then he pulled away to kneel at the foot of the bed, bowing his head to place his lips around the head of Enjolras' cock.

Enjolras had never felt the like of it. The slick heat of Grantaire's mouth overwhelmed him, and he fell back on the bed with a groan. Grantaire slid down almost to the base of him, his tongue tracing wicked lines along the underside of Enjolras' cock. He sucked and teased, licking gently at the head before taking him in again. It was masterful work, and though Enjolras would have nothing with which to compare it, Grantaire could never have given him less than his best effort.

Much too soon, Enjolras was gasping and shaking, his hands fisted in the crumpled bedsheet. Grantaire knew he was near to reaching the point of crisis, and that in but a few moments there would be no turning back. He did not slow.

It was to be expected that a man of Enjolras' youth and inexperience was likely to have a short fuse and a hair-trigger. Grantaire did not mind that. To carry the metaphor further, men as young as Enjolras were quick to reload, as well.

A moment later, Enjolras gave a helpless groan, and his cock pulsed on Grantaire's tongue. Grantaire swallowed down the salt-bitter taste, carrying him through the aftershocks, and then drew back carefully to lie beside him.

Enjolras lay spread before him like a statue, pale marble and spun gold. Grantaire wanted to paint him in the finest oils, to immortalize him in this one, sated moment.

But of course Enjolras could not remain in repose even long enough for a sketch, let alone a portrait. He shifted his weight as though to rise from the bed--and return to work, no doubt. Grantaire pressed a gentle hand to his shoulder to stop him. "I have not finished with you."

He had never yet seen Enjolras _bewildered_. It was immensely charming. "No?" he asked. "But I--"

Grantaire smiled. "Trust me. Relax, we have time yet."

 _Trust me_ , he said, and Enjolras did. He turned towards him, curling on his side to face Grantaire. This time he was the one who leaned forward for a kiss. He was embarrassed to realize that the bitter taste in Grantaire's mouth was his own doing, and in apology he did his best to lick the last remnants of the taste away. Grantaire certainly seemed to approve.

The clock in the square struck half-past, then quarter-till. They passed the time in kissing and touching. Enjolras began to grow somewhat bolder, tracing his hands along Grantaire's body. His fingertips dipped low enough to brush the fall-front of Grantaire's trousers, finding the straining heat of his cock.

Grantaire sucked in a sharp breath, and Enjolras drew back, his eyes wide.

"Oh," he said softly. "You--forgive me, I had not thought that you would be..."

"How could I be otherwise, with you lying there like that?"

For once at a loss for words, Enjolras could only respond with action, pressing his palm over Grantaire's cock and dragging it slowly along his length. Grantaire sighed, his eyes falling closed at the touch.

"Will you let me do as you did for me?" Enjolras asked. "It seems beyond rudeness, to leave you...wanting."

"I can wait," Grantaire said, gently twining his fingers with Enjolras' and drawing them away. He was not quite so young or fit as Enjolras, and he would not be wasted on hands and lips when they could both have so much more.

"Still," he said. "I would at least like to see you."

Grantaire's face turned pink, but he did not prevent Enjolras from slowly stripping him, pausing to appreciate every strip of skin revealed by his work.

When he had finally bared Grantaire to his view, he began pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along the curve of Grantaire's jaw, the hollow of his throat, the line of his collarbone. He would have mapped out every inch of Grantaire's skin, if there had been but time.

Grantaire slid his hands up Enjolras' arms to his shoulders, holding him there. "If you persist in that, it will be the end of me."

Enjolras' eyes gleamed with pride, and Grantaire briefly wondered what sort of beautiful monster he'd awakened. He slid his hands down Enjolras' sides to settle at his hips. Enjolras shivered, and his eyes widened as his cock began to rise again. " _Oh_ ," he whispered.

Grantaire smiled and pressed a kiss to Enjolras' cheek. "I told you."

"So you did. I assume you have a plan, then?"

" _Futuamus_ ," Grantaire suggested. Some things were easier to say in a language not one's own.

Enjolras nodded.

"Would you take, or be taken, then?"

"I would have you take me," he answered, without a second's thought.

Grantaire's eyes fell closed. "Oh."

"Is that...all right?"

"More than all right," he said, opening his eyes again. "Would you give me the oil?"

Enjolras pressed the glass bottle into Grantaire's hands without hesitation. Instead, Grantaire was the one who paused. "Enjolras, you must tell me--if I hurt you, or do something you dislike."

"I will."

"Very well, then. There are a number of different ways this can be done--on your knees, or lying down, or face to face as we are."

"As we are, then. So that I can look at you."

Grantaire's face heated at the frank appreciation in Enjolras' voice. He pulled one of the pillows from the head of the bed and positioned it under Enjolras' hips, to give him a better angle. Enjolras drew his legs up without Grantaire's direction, understanding the idea. Grantaire wondered just how thorough Enjolras' research had been. Had he visited the Louvre in the past, and studied the red-figure Greek vases there? For the space of a heartbeat he allowed himself to wish that they could go there together and wander the long halls, speaking of art and life instead of death and revolution.

No. He had never dared hope of having Enjolras as he did now; he would not waste it with pointless dreams. Grantaire pulled the stopper from the bottle and poured a liberal amount onto one finger. He let it warm there for a few seconds, and then, without taking his eyes from Enjolras' face, reached below.

He let his hand slip past Enjolras' cock, now hard and ready again, to tease and circle at Enjolras' entrance before sliding one slick finger inside.

Enjolras took a breath, not sharp enough to be called a gasp, and shifted his weight. The sensation was strange, and he was not quite certain that he particularly enjoyed it. Perhaps after a moment he would grow accustomed to it... 

Then Grantaire's finger brushed against something inside him that made lightning spark along his spine. He did gasp then, letting his head fall back on the pillows.

Grantaire chuckled. "Did you like that?"

"I...cannot be sure," he replied, struggling to maintain his composure. "Perhaps if you were to repeat the-- _oh_."

Grantaire added a second finger and pressed teasingly against the same spot before drawing away. "Your verdict?"

Enjolras only response was to lift his hips, seeking for the proper angle again. Grantaire obliged him in teasing strokes, eventually adding a third slick finger with a sharp twist that dragged a low groan from Enjolras.

If he had thought that Enjolras was beautiful in the aftermath, it was nothing compared to how he looked now, stretched and ready, with a flush rising on his face and chest. Grantaire withdrew entirely, to Enjolras' frustrated sigh, and reached for the oil again. This time he poured the oil on his cock, biting down sharply on his lip to keep from spilling over as he spread the oil around. When Grantaire looked up, he caught in Enjolras' eyes a moment of--not worry--but skepticism.

Grantaire was not the largest of men, in any wise, but his lovers had never had cause to complain. He saw the hint of uncertainty dim the gleam in Enjolras' eyes, and he crawled forward to kiss him. "We do not have to do this," he said softly. "There are other things we could do." He rolled his hips to demonstrate, bringing their cocks together between their bodies.

Enjolras shook his head. "I want this," he said simply. "I want you."

Grantaire swore. "You are determined to kill me before I get the chance to finish this." He knelt between Enjolras' spread thighs and slowly-- _so_ slowly--pressed inside. 

Enjolras took a deep breath. The fullness of Grantaire's cock inside him settled on a knife-edge between pleasure and pain. Every passing second seemed more likely to tip him over into pleasure, if only Grantaire would _do_ something.

"Enjolras?"

He nodded once, to give his permission, and Grantaire shifted his weight, sliding back and then forward again, tearing a sudden gasp from Enjolras. It was pleasure now, only pleasure, sparking through him with every shallow thrust.

He pulled Grantaire down to him, close enough to kiss as he rocked forward again. The kiss was a messy thing, lips and tongues and the sharp sting of teeth against Enjolras' bottom lip. 

Grantaire slipped a hand between them to wrap around Enjolras' cock. He stroked in rhythm with his thrusts, wanting to make the night last but knowing that it was a hopeless goal. Already his body felt coiled and tight, as though any second he would fly apart. 

Enjolras let his head fall back, his spine bowing as he pressed up into Grantaire's hand and down onto his cock. His lips parted on a silent cry and he came, spilling over Grantaire's hand and both of their bodies.

The sight of it was too much for Grantaire, and he followed Enjolras over the edge, the rhythm faltering as pleasure washed over him. He collapsed onto the bed, his head falling to rest on Enjolras' chest. He closed his eyes and listened to Enjolras' racing heartbeat slow.

 

When Grantaire could catch his breath again, he withdrew and set to cleaning both of them up as best he could. Finally he dropped to the bed beside Enjolras, who had barely moved. He still looked beautiful, wrung-out and exhausted, and of course the Romans would have a word for that, too-- _defututus_.

Grantaire thought he might simply have fallen asleep, but then he opened his eyes and reached for the trousers that lay discarded on the floor. Grantaire curled an arm around Enjolras' waist, holding him back. "I regret to inform you that a liaison such as this is not complete until morning. Hence the euphemism ' _to sleep with_ ' someone."

"You are making that up to keep me here."

"Mm. You cannot prove it," he murmured, his lips just brushing the nape of Enjolras' neck. "And even if I am, you still need to sleep."

Enjolras could have shoved Grantaire aside and gone back to his work, but there was no arguing with Grantaire's logic. There would be precious little time to sleep in the coming nights. In two days' time the state would mock General LaMarque with a grand funeral, and the students would honor him with a revolution.

In three days' time they might all be dead; Enjolras knew the risks, but fear could not turn him from his course. Thanks to Grantaire, he had at least known the pleasure of sharing his bed with another. The memory would be some comfort at the barricade.

Enjolras reached down and pressed Grantaire's hand where it lay over Enjolras' hip. "Thank you," he said softly. 

But Grantaire was already asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Euryalus is a young Trojan soldier from The Aeneid. He dies on a raid to the enemy camp, and his lover Nisus charges his murderer, kills him, and then lies down to die with Euryalus. _Nise_ is the direct-address form of _Nisus_.
> 
> The poem Grantaire starts to recite is [Catullus 16](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catullus_16), aka the filthiest thing ever. I elided the _o_ at the end of _pedicabo_ because that's how the line scans, and Grantaire is probably as meticulous about his classical allusions as he is cavalier about everything else.
> 
>  _Futuamus_ means "let us fuck." But in a less-vulgar sense than, say, Catullus 16. And _defututus_ really does mean "fucked out." Romans, man.
> 
> ...Dear god, even my porn has footnotes. I'm sorry, everyone.


End file.
